by Michael Wood
‘Is this the first time you’ve used a dating website?’ Brian asked once the coffee had arrived at the end of their meal.
‘Yes. I was extremely nervous about it, if I’m honest. I’m not used to putting my life on a website like that. It was strange. We put so much of ourselves on the Internet, don’t we? I dread to think what will come up if I ever google myself.’ She smiled.
Brian googled himself on an almost daily basis. His life was laid bare for everyone to pore over. Fortunately, there wasn’t a recent photograph of him. Besides, who would be looking for him in Sheffield?
‘I know what you mean. Finding seventy-five words to describe yourself is harder than you expect. And I was suddenly very self-conscious about my height,’ he laughed.
‘I had a half-hour debate with my son over my eyes. I think they’re blue; he thinks they’re green.’
Brian leaned forward. ‘They’re definitely blue. A lovely warm blue.’
Adele blushed.
‘So.’ Brian sat back, obviously uncomfortable. ‘Why decide to do it now?’
‘Well, Chris doesn’t need looking after anymore. I’ve got my life back. Unfortunately, the world has changed since I last went on a date. This seems to be the way of doing things now. What about you? Wasn’t there anyone in America?’
‘No. Well, there were a few dates, but never anything long-lasting.’
‘Would you have stayed out there if there had been?’
‘I’m not sure. The longer I was there the more I missed England.’ He paused, ‘I’ve really enjoyed this evening, Adele. You’ve made me laugh for the first time in ages.’
Adele blushed as she smiled. ‘That’s kind of you to say, thank you.’
‘Would you like to meet up again?’
‘Yes. I’d like that.’
The bill arrived, and they agreed to pay half each without any argument. When they left, the temperature had dropped, and Adele shivered. Brian helped her with her coat and they made eye contact. He leaned in and kissed her on the lips. It lingered for a few seconds before Adele pulled away.
‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘No … I just …’
‘That’s OK. I understand. Take things slowly.’
‘Exactly. You don’t mind?’
‘No. Of course not. May I walk you to your car?’
‘I’m getting a taxi home.’
‘I’ll walk you to the taxi rank then.’
They shared another brief kiss at the taxi, and Brian closed the door once Adele was safely inside. As it pulled away from the kerb she turned back and waved. Brian waited until the taxi had turned the corner before he headed for the car park. He took out his mobile and opened up the photos app. He scrolled through the pictures he had taken of Adele standing outside the City Hall before they’d met. She smiled at a passer-by. She looked at her watch. She looked left and right, then left again. She paced. She checked the time once more. There was a reason he was a few minutes late. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Adele sat back in the taxi and found she had a silly smile on her face. She had just had the best date of her life. Brian was charming, funny, intelligent, and he didn’t seem to mind that she’d turned away from the kiss when his tongue started to intrude. She took her phone out of her bag and began sending a message.
On my way home. Great night. Brian was lovely.
The reply from her best friend, Matilda Darke, was almost instant.
Is he going home with you?
No he isn’t. I’m not that kind of woman.
You used to be, lol.
I’ve grown up a lot since then.
Will you be seeing him again?
Yes. I liked him a lot.
Any tongue action?
My lips are sealed.
Spoil sport.
We kissed. Twice. No tongue.
Hot! I hope he wore protection, lol.
‘I can’t park on your road, I’m afraid,’ the taxi driver said, interrupting Adele’s text conversation.
‘Sorry?’
‘There’s traffic on both sides and if this sodding Audi behind me gets any closer he’ll be performing a colonoscopy.’
Adele looked out of the back window but could see nothing but the bright headlights. ‘That’s fine. Park around the corner. I can walk.’
The taxi turned left and pulled up in front of a shop. The Audi shot round and drove down the road at speed.
‘Sorry about that, love. Some people shouldn’t be allowed on the road.’
‘Tell me about it,’ she agreed. Most of the people who came into her lab were the result of car-related deaths.
Adele paid the fare and tipped the driver. She turned her back to the taxi, buttoned her coat up to the neck against the stiff March breeze and headed for home.
Traffic wasn’t usually so bad on her street. There were cars parked bumper-to-bumper on both sides. Somebody must be having a party.
As she walked down the poorly lit road she checked her phone, the brightness lighting up her face. It was just after eleven o’clock, not too late then.
It was a quiet night, and a cold one. The stars were shining in their billions as Adele looked to the pitch-black sky. There wasn’t a cloud visible. She shivered and pulled the collar up on her designer coat. A dog barked somewhere. Its resounding call set off a chain – a cat meowed, another dog barked, an owl hooted.
Adele stopped dead in her tracks and looked about her. She couldn’t make up her mind if she had heard something or if it was her imagination. The loud clacking from her shoes echoed as she took long strides to the safety of her house. For some reason, she wanted to get home, quickly, and lock the door behind her.
As Adele reached her front door the security light came on. She realized her house keys were buried somewhere in her handbag. She grabbed for the keys and struggled to find the Yale to unlock the door. Her fingers were cold and shaking. She pushed it open and almost fell into the house, slamming it closed behind her. She put the safety chain on, locked the top and bottom bolts and came to rest with her back against the solid wood.
‘Chris?’ she called out to the dark, silent house. ‘Chris, are you home?’
She kicked off her expensive but painful shoes and sighed with relief. She headed for the kitchen when a dull thud from the living room caused her to stop in her tracks. There was someone in her house. If Chris was home, he would have made himself known by now.
She turned and studied the door. Her eyes were locked on the handle, as if waiting for it to be pushed down from the other side. She grabbed it, slowly depressed it, and opened the door carefully.
Adele opened it wide enough to put her arm through and flick on the living room light. The yellow glow made her squint. She listened intently but couldn’t hear anything from the other side of the door. She pushed it fully open and froze in horror.
‘Who the bloody hell are you?’ she asked.
Brian Appleby hadn’t wanted the evening to end. He had had a wonderful time with Adele. The kiss at the end was beautiful. He thought he’d made a mistake when he tried to go further, but he understood. They had to get to know each other, what they liked, disliked, how quickly they wanted to take this. He was prepared to wait.
He took no notice of his journey home. He drove along Heeley and Woodseats while his mind went over the date and pictured Adele’s blushes and smiles. She really was a beautiful woman. Her hair was soft and shiny, she didn’t cake herself in too much make-up, her jewellery was understated yet elegant. Everything about her was as close to perfect as it was possible to get.
Brian parked in his usual place right outside his detached home on Linden Avenue. He smiled at a neighbour as she let her cat out for the night, then went inside.
It was ten past eleven. He decided to treat himself to a glass of Jameson’s or two in his armchair and go over the date one more time.
He turned on the living room light to find a man sitting in the middle of the sofa.
‘
Who the bloody hell are you?’ Brian asked, his voice filled with anger at the boldness of his intruder.
‘Good evening, Brian. How was your date?’
‘What the …? Hang on, I know you, don’t I?’
‘Were you able to control yourself? Or did the old urges come flooding back? On the other hand, this one’s a little older than what you usually go for. Are you trying to be a model citizen? It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?’
‘Have you been following me?’
‘Why don’t you take a seat, Brian. We’ve got a lot to talk about.’
‘How did you get in?’ he asked, not moving from the doorway.
‘If you’ll sit down, I’ll explain everything.’
Tentatively, Brian made his way over to the armchair, not once taking his eyes off his intruder. He sat, perched on the edge. ‘Go on then, explain. And if I don’t like what I hear I’m calling the police.’
‘I don’t think you’re going to want to do that.’
There was a calmness about his strange visitor that frightened Brian. How did he know so much about him? How long had he been following him?
‘Why not?’ Brian frowned.
‘See that bag on the coffee table? Open it.’
Brian looked down at the small tote bag. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s for you. A present.’
‘I don’t want it,’ he said defiantly.
‘Open it,’ the intruder said, more forcefully.
Still not taking his eyes from his visitor, Brian edged towards the coffee table and opened the light cotton bag. He frowned, not making sense of what was inside. He reached in and pulled it out.
‘Jesus Christ! Who are you?’
Chapter Two
DCI Matilda Darke couldn’t get used to her new car. The silver Ford Focus she had driven for years had been written off by the insurance company late last year after she’d swerved to avoid a head-on collision and crashed into a tree. Rather than upgrade to something shiny and modern, Matilda had opted for another silver Ford Focus. The only difference was the licence plate. That wasn’t technically true. It felt different. She couldn’t pinpoint why, but Matilda wanted her old car back. There was something familiar about it that couldn’t be replicated in the newer model.
She turned into Linden Avenue and quickly applied the brakes. Nothing wrong with those. Ahead of her was a crowd of onlookers, neighbours in dressing gowns, carpet slippers and hastily put on jogging bottoms and trainers. People who had left their homes and filled the road at the first sighting of a police car.
She climbed out of the car and had an iPhone thrust into her face.
‘DCI Darke, can you tell me what’s happened here?’
‘As you can see, I’ve just arrived.’
‘You must know something.’
‘And you are?’
‘Danny Hanson. Senior Crime Reporter on The Star.’
‘Ah! You’re Danny Hanson?’
He beamed at the fact a DCI knew who he was.
Matilda dug into her inside jacket pocket for her own iPhone, selected the camera and took a photo of the young journalist.
‘Did you just take my picture?’
‘I certainly did.’
‘Any reason why?’
‘I’d like to show my team who not to talk to when they attend a crime scene.’
Matilda reached the garden gate of the house she had been summoned to. Feeling the warm breath of the journalist on her neck she stopped and turned around. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, but looked younger. She wondered if he was still asked for ID when he bought a scratchcard. She gave him the once-over – the neatly messed-up dark brown hairstyle, the plain blue tie, the dark blue shirt, the skinny black jeans. He looked like an interviewee for his first Saturday job.
‘Is this to do with the Starling House case?’ he asked.
‘Not entirely. You’re the journalist who keeps calling me late at night, aren’t you? Where did you get my number?’
‘My predecessor,’ he said.
‘Your predecessor wasn’t at The Star long enough to get my number.’
‘Ah.’ He broke eye contact for the first time.
‘Ah indeed. You know, I admire ambition. However, there’s a fine line between ambition and breaking the law. Right now, you’ve passed the police tape; you’re breaking the law. Don’t worry, I’ll give you this one. Step out of line again and I’ll personally see you locked up. Understand?’
‘But I—’
Matilda held her hand up to silence him. ‘Trust me, you need to pay attention to what I’m saying. You’re young, you’re handsome, you’d be very popular in prison. Now, back on the other side of the tape,’ she said with a sinister smile.
‘You can’t just—’
‘Are you seriously trying to pick an argument with me? Go.’ She pointed. ‘And if you’re quick, you’ll be just in time for your PE lesson.’
Matilda turned away before Danny Hanson could reply. DC Kesinka Rani was waiting in the doorway of the house. She handed her a paper forensic suit, and Matilda flashed her warrant card to the uniformed officer standing guard.
‘Morning, Kes. I do enjoy a good quarrel with a journalist first thing.’ She slipped into the forensic suit, placed on the overshoes and stepped inside the detached house. ‘Make sure he’s shifted, won’t you?’ she said, looking over her shoulder at the lingering journalist.
‘Will do. Steve, could you?’ Kesinka asked the PC standing on the doorstep.
‘No problem.’ Steve left his post and grabbed Danny by the elbow. The reporter tried to shrug him off but winced under the grip of the PC.
It was a cold morning, and although there was no heating on inside the house and the front door was wide open, it was good to get out of the bitter spring air.
‘Why have I been called out to a suicide?’ Matilda asked.
‘It’s not your regular suicide.’
‘Is there such a thing as an irregular suicide?’
Kesinka didn’t reply. She pointed to the entrance to the living room and stepped back, inviting Matilda to see for herself.
‘Oh,’ was all Matilda could say upon entering the room.
The large living room stretched the entire length of the house. Close to the bay window overlooking the road was an oak dining table. On the wall was a display cabinet which housed a collection of silver trinkets. In the middle of the lounge was a cast-iron wood burner. There were a few logs inside but, judging by how clean it was, a fire hadn’t been lit in a while. An expensive-looking Chesterfield sofa and matching armchair pointed to a fifty-inch television in the corner. And, right at the back, in front of the patio doors, was a figure hanging by the neck from an exposed beam, a white pillowcase over his head.
Matilda stepped into the cold room. A body of white-suited forensic officers were busily dusting for prints on the patio door handles and taking photographs from every conceivable angle. In the corner, one officer was sketching, and another was laying a sheet directly beneath the swaying body.
‘Do we know who he is?’ Matilda asked quietly to Kesinka.
‘Not confirmed yet. Aaron’s upstairs with Ranjeet trying to find some ID.’
‘Who called it in?’
‘The woman next door was hanging some washing out. She just happened to look up and noticed someone hanging in the window.’
Matilda apologized as she squeezed past a forensic officer to peer through the glass. The border between this house and next door was a privet hedge measuring no more than four-feet high. It wasn’t very private, hence why the woman next door was able to make such a gruesome discovery.
‘Does she know who is living here?’
‘Yes.’ Kesinka took out her notebook. ‘First name is Brian. She thinks his surname is Appleton, but not one hundred per cent. He lives alone as far as she knows.’
Matilda looked back to the hanging body. ‘Has Dr Kean been called?’
‘I’ve no idea, ma’
am.’
‘She has. There was no answer from her mobile,’ one of the forensic officers said.
Matilda frowned. She had no idea who had spoken to her. As she looked around the room she realized she only knew Kesinka.
‘Where’s my team?’ she whispered.
‘Aaron’s upstairs. Faith is next door with Mrs Fitzgerald. Sian’s still on annual leave, and Rory is off today, hospital appointment. Scott isn’t in until later. Oh, DI Brady left a message this morning. He’s broken a tooth and got an emergency appointment with the dentist.’
‘That’s a relief. For a moment I thought everyone had deserted me.’ She smiled. She walked back to the body and introduced herself to a scene of crime officer.
‘Diana Black, nice to meet you,’ came the reply in a strong West Country accent. Diana had only been living in South Yorkshire for three weeks, but the confidence in which she went about her work showed she had been doing this for a number of years. ‘I’ve taken plenty of photographs and close-ups of the neck and the fingers.’ She lifted up the left hand of the hanging man, which had been placed in a plastic evidence bag. ‘If you look closely you can see there’s some blood under his nails, possibly skin samples too. We should be able to get a match if there is. Now, I know it’s not my job, but I’ve had a feel of the neck and there is no broken bone. Plenty of bruising and rope burns, which suggests he struggled a lot.’
‘So not a suicide?’ Matilda asked. She had been lost in Diana’s accent. It made a change from the gruff thick Yorkshire she was surrounded with on a daily basis.
‘If it is, it’s the first case of suicide by hanging I’ve come across where the person has covered their face and I’ve been in this job almost thirty years.’
Matilda looked at Diana. Although she was wearing a white forensic suit with the hood up and a face mask on, her eyes were still visible. There didn’t appear to be any wrinkles, and her voice sounded light, young. If she had been working for nearly thirty years she had to be in her mid-fifties at least. Matilda wondered what face cream she used.
‘Also,’ Diana said, picking up an evidence bag from the box by her feet, ‘the contents of his pockets – car keys, loose change, parking stub. And he’s wearing outdoor shoes. I’ve never known anyone to hang themselves and look like they’ve just come home from a day at work.’
